


Sentimentality

by heliocentricity



Category: Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 01:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliocentricity/pseuds/heliocentricity
Summary: Pip returns to Barnard's Inn on a whim and is shocked to find Herbert asleep in his room.  (Granted you've read the first few chapters of "Volume Two," there are no major spoilers to worry about.)
Relationships: Philip Pirrip/Herbert Pocket
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38





	Sentimentality

**Author's Note:**

> The explanation for this story is: I'm gay, and I need some fluff to unwind after a stressful week.

It was late one evening, well past sundown, when I decided on a whim to visit Barnard’s Inn and spend the night there. I had nothing against my usual lodgings in Hammersmith, except that my day had been long and hard, and I had a throbbing headache, which made the prospect of dealing with such characters as Flopson and Drummle nearly intolerable. In that moment, I much preferred the company of my friend Herbert, who always cheered me up in times of hardship. Although I was certain he would be asleep by this hour, I consoled myself with the prospect of seeing him in the morning and eating breakfast together.

When I reached our room, I took special care to close the front door with as little sound as possible and to tiptoe delicately across the floorboards. Unfortunately, they were all too eager to let out plaintive cries despite my best efforts to tread lightly, and I froze, worried about waking my friend. Still, there was no sound of anyone stirring, and aside from the disruptive floorboards, the apartment remained as silent as the grave. Mustering my resolve, I darted forward and completed the trek to my room in a few lengthy strides, accompanied by a symphony of creaks that subsided soon after. Exhaling in relief, I leaned against my door for several moments before entering.

Unlike the rest of Barnard's Inn, my room was nearly pitch black inside, since the thick curtains obscured the majority of what little moonlight there was that night. Luckily, I knew the layout by heart and only stumbled a little as I flung off my shoes and got ready for bed. When I made a final effort to clamber onto the mattress, I was startled to feel something obstructing my path. The object shifted beneath me and, to my great surprise, let out a great yawn.

"Herbert?” I whispered, at the same moment the figure mumbled, “Handel? Is that you?”

I blinked furiously, willing my eyes to adjust more quickly to the darkness, and by degrees I could just barely make out a vague outline of my friend’s pale head. He had sat up by this point and was rubbing his eyes with the knuckles of one hand.

“Of course, it’s me,” I told him, just as he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to sleep in my bed,” I teased him. I paused then answered more seriously. “I had a rough day and wanted to sleep here tonight. I know it's late and I wasn't expected back until the weekend, but I thought I'd surprise you in the morning." I cleared my throat and shifted back to a lighter tone. "Now, what are you doing here? Last I checked, this isn’t your bed.”

Herbert hummed thoughtfully and looked about him for several moments, as though he too were shocked to find himself in this situation. Finally, he rubbed the back of his neck and explained, “I suppose I’m here for much the same reason as you, Handel. Work was. . . a lot today — looking about can be very tiring, you know — and I returned to Barnard's Inn afterwards hoping to see you. Of course, you were busy with your studies and were nowhere to be found — not that I blame you in the slightest. It was I who had mixed the dates, after all. But the point remained that I had gotten my hopes up and was exceedingly lonely in consequence. So, I came in here to relax." He gestured vaguely around us. "You see — and I hope you don't find it too odd of me to mention — but something about this room just feels like you, even when you’re not around."

Here, my stomach did an uneasy somersault that could have been a side effect of sheer terror or affection — perhaps it was a combination of both. But Herbert pressed on before I could parse through my feelings too deeply. He spoke more rapidly now, as though he were conscious of how much longer his explanation had been than mine.

"I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your bed, Handel, I assure you. I only planned to stay in here for a few minutes and then retire to my own room. However, I suppose I must have underestimated how tired I was and how comfy your bed is.” He laughed a little, and though it might have been my own anxious energy reflected onto him, I could have sworn he sounded nervous. After a pause during which I remained silent, he asked me, “This isn’t a dream, is it?”

I shook my head vehemently, then remembered that he might not be able to see me clearly in the dark. “It’s not,” I assured him aloud.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. “Because all day, I’ve been thinking to myself how great it would be to see my dear Handel again, and suddenly, here you are. If I didn’t know any better, I would say this is all my mind playing tricks on me.”

“I promise you, it’s real,” I repeated, then added, “otherwise I wouldn’t still have this troublesome headache.” I knocked gently on one side of my head, and perhaps Herbert had some night vision after all, for he laughed again, this time more naturally.

“Well, I suppose the only thing to do is share your bed tonight,” he declared, and for the life of me, I couldn't tell if he were joking.

I remained silent, hoping he would elaborate, but several heartbeats passed with neither of us saying a word.

Herbert coughed and said, “Right then. I’ll head back to my room and — ”

Without fully understanding why, I reached for Herbert’s arm as he rose and said quickly, “No, no, you can stay. There's room enough for us both."

I was grateful for the darkness then, for I feared what expressions my face might be betraying.

Herbert cleared his throat, mumbled a gruff, "Right then," and hastily scooted over so we might each have roughly half of the mattress. We pulled back the sheets on either side of the bed and climbed in. Apparently, when Herbert had fallen asleep earlier, it had been on top of the covers, and if I had doubted the veracity of his story before, then this surely would have convinced me as to its truth — not that I had ever known Herbert to be anything but honest with me. That was one of my favorite qualities about him — that, and his readiness to answer even the silliest of questions, with enough enthusiasm to make it seem as though I were doing him a favor by asking.

As I settled into the bed, I realized I was on the opposite side from that which I usually preferred. The room felt different somehow, thanks to my slightly skewed perspective: The window was a little too far to the right and the wall much too close to me for my liking. Still, I held silent, and neither of us spoke for the first couple minutes. I was hyper-aware of how I lay on my side, and the mundane position felt more awkward than normal. Although I had never thought about it before, I began to worry that somehow I had been sleeping wrong my whole life and had never known it. I inwardly scolded myself for such useless fears and reminded myself that it was probably too dark for Herbert to see and judge my strange habits, anyway.

I had lost track of time when, beside me, Herbert heaved a contented sigh. I realized he might be falling asleep, and I was filled with the irrational desire to keep him awake for at least a few minutes longer. So, I whispered his name, and to my relief, he whispered mine back. I panicked a little when I realized it was my turn to respond.

Improvising, I asked, “Did you want to talk about today?” Once the question left my lips, I realized it was a good starting point, for I was genuinely curious about his answer. “You mentioned something about work earlier. Is everything alright?”

I had long worried about his job that seemed to be going nowhere and which probably made him quite miserable, even if he never showed it. I remembered the first time we met, when he had challenged me to a fight and I — though I shudder to think about it in too much detail — had left him quite bloody and bruised. He had seemed unexpectedly cheerful in the face of his pain then, and I wondered with an uneasy dread how much it would take for Herbert to admit that enough was enough.

“Oh, just a little bit of discouragement, is all," he assured me. "I appreciate your asking after it, but it really is nothing to worry about. I’ll manage.” I wanted to press the issue more and somehow convey to him that I would support him no matter what, even if he let his smile falter every once in a while. But Herbert left no space for me to respond and hastily turned the topic toward me. “But what about you, my dear Handel?" he asked. "Are you alright? I know from experience how. . . overwhelming it can be living with my family and all their guests. I would hate to think they're making you miserable with their eccentric behavior.”

I was quick to say, "No, no, Herbert, your family is great. Really.” They had their faults, of course, but still I enjoyed watching their interactions and feeling like I was part of a big family. In a way, I could imagine they were the parents and siblings I had never gotten the chance to meet, whose images in my head were based on nothing more than fonts and tombstone inscriptions. Even if they were eccentric, they were still undeniably alive. To Herbert, I continued, “If anyone in that household bothers me, it’s Drummle. You know we don't get along very well. But Startop usually balances things out, and it's hard to hear Drummle being obnoxious over the clamor of your little siblings." I shook my head, having sufficiently convinced myself that this was not the source of my troubles. "No, Hammersmith is fine. Today was just. . . ” It dawned upon me how simple my answer was. Yet I wondered how much I should say and how I could avoid making this situation any more unusual than it already was. But perhaps the night air had gone to my head on my walk to Barnard's, for I was unable to stop myself from blurting out, “I missed you.”

To my surprise, the words came out much quieter than I intended and had been scarcely more than a whisper. Herbert apologized and shuffled closer, so that I could see the bare outline of his face, then asked me to repeat what I had just said. I obliged, with no little amount of anxiety, and this time the statement came out more like a question. I was overcome with regret and thought I sounded like the most foolish person in the planet. Unable to revoke my words, I decided to cover them with as many more as possible.

“I'm sure it's strange for me to say such a thing,” I told him, speaking so quickly my words practically tumbled over one another, “and I apologize for any impropriety. I don't wish to make you uncomfortable or anything of the sort. It must be my headache and lack of sleep combined, that's making me talk so. I really am sorry. Tomorrow, I promise there will be no more of this sentimentality or such — ”

My breath caught in my throat as I felt Herbert's hand brush against my face. He was pushing back a clump of hair that had fallen across my eyes, but when he pulled back, I was certain that his fingers rested on my cheek for a split-second longer than was necessary.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Sentimentality is a wonderful thing, my dear. Perhaps it is improper, as you fear. But this is between us, and I don't think the same rules of etiquette apply between two close friends as they might with anyone else. Besides, I should add that I missed you, too.” A pause. “I find I miss you an awful lot, lately.”

It was only when I tried to speak again that I realized I had been holding my breath for the past half-minute or so. "You think about me when I'm not around?" I breathed in disbelief. "Of course! And why shouldn't I? We get along so well, you and I, and it's no secret that I'm rather fond of you. After all, why else would I call you Handel? You're my harmonious blacksmith! And I suppose I'm your. . . your. . . " He faltered. It was true, I had no special nickname for Herbert — though there was one term which I had begun to associate with him over the past year. "My best friend?" I suggested in a whisper. Herbert sucked in a breath before asking, "Am I really?" I was surprised that he sounded so shocked. "There's no need to be modest," I told him. "Obviously, you're the kindest person I know." Herbert began to laugh, so I insisted, “I’m serious! You’re so. . . ” I wracked my tired mind for a suitable adjective, one that conveyed just how strongly I felt about Herbert but that also didn’t startle him with its intensity. “You're so amazing,” I finished lamely.

“It’s funny you should say that,” Herbert remarked, “because I'd say you're the kindest person I know.” He booped my nose as he said you’re, and I couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across my face. "And you're also pretty amazing."

“You’re exaggerating,” I told him, well-aware that he was using humor to lighten an otherwise serious conversation. Still, I decided to go along with it and swatted aside his hand playfully. I missed him by miles in the dark, but he must have noticed my attempt, because the very next moment, he reached for my hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

“Not at all,” he assured me, still holding on to my hand. “Of course, if I could say I’ve met myself, then you would have to be relegated to the second nicest person." He batted his eyelashes and said, as if it were an afterthought, "You were right about me being amazing.”

I began to laugh then, the kind of irrational giggling that only starts up late at night and continues long past the joke that inspired it. Herbert joined in, always a mirror when it came to laughter. We both knew that his joke hadn't been this funny, but that only made us giggle harder. We tried to keep our voices down, aware of how late it was and no doubt remembering the time our raucous laughter had caused a neighbor to rap furiously on our shared wall, startling us both with its ferocity. Our laughter subsided after about a minute, and we settled back down on the mattress, the length of our arms practically overlapping. I hadn't realized how close we had gotten or when, but for some reason, I wanted us to be even closer. I rolled onto my side, and he did the same, pressing our foreheads together for the briefest of seconds. Something fluttered nervously in my chest as I whispered, “Herbert?”

The fluttering increased tenfold as he whispered back, “Handel."

I shivered a little as he said my name. I had never imagined a nickname could be filled with so much love.

Noticing how I trembled, Herbert frowned and asked, “Are you cold?”

I hesitated, then said, “A little,” though the truth was, I didn’t notice the chill of the room at all.

“Would you like to take some extra covers, then?” he offered, sitting up and feeling the bed for a spare blanket. “I don’t need them all. I can fetch a blanket from my room, too, if you’d like.”

The thought of Herbert leaving, even for a few minutes, was so disagreeable that I hastily told him, “Really, there’s no need for that. The cold isn’t so bad as I make it out to be.”

Herbert stopped mid-search and asked me, "Are you sure?" I nodded and said, "I am." “Alright, but do let me know if you change your mind or if there's anything else I can do. I must remember that I am a guest in your bed, after all. That means your comfort is paramount, and you have first access to all the pillows and covers.”

I thanked him as he wrapped the covers around himself once more. Then, I mulled over what I was going to say next for a solid two minutes, during every second of which I feared Herbert would fall asleep and cost me my chance. Eventually, I mustered all my courage, cleared my throat to get his attention, and said, “Actually. . . there is something I’d like to try. If you wouldn’t mind very much.”

“Hm?" He was lying on his back, and the pillows shifted as he turned his head toward me. "What do you propose?”

“Well. . . I think it’d be easier if I showed you before anything else,” I admitted. “But please, feel free to stop me if it’s too. . .” I hesitated then settled on, "Sentimental."

“By all means.”

I took a deep breath and then bridged the small gap between us, so I was pressed up against his side and my head rested atop his chest. I felt his breath hitch and somehow managed to squeak out, “You can put your arm around me, if you’d like.”

Before I had even finished the sentence, I felt a warm pressure wrap around my body and settle on my arm. “Like this?” Herbert breathed.

I nodded, and this time, I knew there was no need for words, since Herbert could feel my movements against him. Tentatively, I slid my hand across his stomach and let it come to rest in the dip of his waist. “Is this alright?” I asked him.

His voice cracked a little as he said, “Yes.” Then, he rested his free hand atop mine. I thought for an instant he was going to move it off of him, and I tensed for what felt like an imminent rejection. But he simply let our hands touch and made no signs of moving his own. After a few minutes like this, he asked me, “Are you comfortable?”

I nodded against him, aware of the steady beating of his heart drumming away beneath my ear. “Very much so. And you?”

“Just the same.”

There was no need for any more words that night. Herbert and I fell asleep half on top of one another, my head on his chest, and one of his hands pressing gently into my shoulder. Our legs were a jumble of limbs so tangled I recognize now that it couldn’t have been comfortable for either of us. Yet neither of us dared move, electing instead to wait patiently for sleep and its body-numbing remedies. Still, I imagine Herbert felt as happy as I did, because when I chanced a look up at him through the darkness, I could just barely make out the ghost of a smile tracing its way across his lips.

When I woke up sometime in the middle of the night, we had changed positions, though I had no memory of doing so. We were both facing toward the door now and were lying on our sides. Herbert’s body was curled around mine, his chest pressed flush to my back and his arms wrapped around my torso. His head must have lay near mine on the pillow, as well, for I could feel his slow breaths tickling against my hair.

I relished the comfort of that moment, but even more so I relished the security of it. To say that Herbert was the first person who loved me is inaccurate. Joe and Biddy certainly cared about me just as much, albeit in different ways. However, though I hate to say anything against them, Herbert was the first person who had both the desire and the means to care for me. Joe could not protect me from my sister's wrath, and I could never reciprocate Biddy's feelings — if they were as romantic as I suspected. But as soon as Herbert and I moved in together, I realized our emotions were in sync, and that night I learned our desires were, too. Moreover, I got the distinct sense that Herbert would never stand idly by and watch abuse like that which I had suffered under my sister's reign. No, if our wrestling match the first day I met him was any indicator, Herbert would never let a blow fall that was against the rules of a prearranged game. He was warm, kind, and passionate, and I only learned what true safety was after moving in with him.

My favorite memory from that night is, more accurately, from that morning. When the Sun had sufficiently risen and was poking its long fingers into our bedroom window, seeping in through the sole chink in the curtain's armor, I desired to get up for the day. Herbert, however, was still draped across me like an unwieldy starfish. I worked quietly and carefully to disentangle myself from him, and in his half-asleep stupor, he mumbled soft pleas for me to stay and tried in vain to reach for my hand.

I hesitated then, hearing the honest and unabashed desire in his voice. Finally, with a sigh that I hope conveyed to him all my dearest affections, I relented and said, “Very well. But only five more minutes.”

Herbert reacted like I had just told him the best news in the world. Smiling, he snuggled up next to me as close as our bodies would allow. For a split-second, I thought he was about to go in for a kiss, and I felt a rush of something I couldn't quite name. It must have been joy, because I felt a wave of disappointment the next moment when he simply nestled his face in the crook of my shoulder. Within seconds, he was fully asleep once more. I sighed, unsure what to do with the overflowing sentimentality I felt toward my friend. We could talk about it, I supposed — though I suspected Herbert would try to keep the topic as light as possible with his usual joking quips. Perhaps it wouldn't matter whether or not we acknowledged our feelings, so long as we could have more sentimental moments like this. Despite my earlier proclamation limiting us to only five more minutes, I soon joined Herbert in sleep and stayed that way for the rest of the morning.


End file.
